


Taking a Toll

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Series: Fall Away [8]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys with feelings, D/s AU, Insecurity, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And really, Dylan deserves it if Connor doesn’t pick up the phone.  He deserves any sort of revenge Connor wants to dish out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking a Toll

**Author's Note:**

> I do not represent the real people presented as characters in this fic, nor do I make any claims about what they do or do not do in their private lives.

“You can do this you can do this you can do this,” Dylan mutters to himself, staring down at his phone.  He’s got Connor’s contact pulled up, staring at the picture he’d taken of Connor over the summer and set as his contact picture.  They were just lying around outside in shorts, sunscreen slathered on, making out lazily in the safety of Dylan’s backyard whenever one of them felt the urge to roll over and kiss the other.

Connor was happy, when he took the picture.  He was just lying there with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses, smiling up at the sky and holding Dylan’s hand.

“You can do it,” he says, and presses “call.”

Dylan fidgets with his blanket, rolling the edge between his thumb and index finger as the phone rang once, twice…

And really, he deserves it if Connor doesn’t pick up the phone.  He deserves any sort of revenge Connor wants.

_You’ve reached Connor McDavid.  I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you._

He hears the beep, and Dylan jumps.  “Uh, hey, Davo.  Connor.  I’m…” he coughs a little, trying to clear his throat.  “I don’t even know what to say.  I’m so sorry.  I’m so so sorry, Connor.  It wasn’t fair for me to just dump shit on you and – and make you think I didn’t love you, or anything I’m _so sorry_.”  Dylan rubs the back of his hand over his eyes.  “Yeah, um.  I just.  I wanted you to know that I’m sorry.  And I love you.  A lot.  I’m…” He sniffs.  “If you need time, or anything, before you can talk to me again, I get it.  I’ll – I might call again, but if you don’t want to call me back, that’s okay.  Um.  Love you.  I watched your game.  You did really well.  I, uh, we’ve got a game tonight, too.  I’d really like it if you watched it but I, uh, I get it if you don’t.  Love you.  Bye.”

Dylan hangs up, and spends another moment staring at Connor’s contact page.  How he’s smiling.  How the sun’s hitting his hair.

And then he sends a text – just in case.  So if Connor can’t listen to his message, maybe he’ll see the text and know what Dylan’s trying to say.  He types out, _I’m sorry.  I love you.  You played really well today._

Less than five minutes later, just when Dylan’s thinking that he really, really needs to get up and get dressed and stop flipping through his phone, he gets a call.

That same happy, smiling, glowing picture of Connor pops up.  Dylan accepts the call.

“Connor, I’m so sorry, thank you for calling me—”

“What the fuck are you doing, Strome.”

That’s not Connor’s voice.

“Who is this?” Dylan asks, frowning down at his knees.

“It’s Taylor Hall.  The one _actually_ looking out for Connor right now.”

Okay, that stings.  Not that Dylan doesn’t fucking deserve it.

“Is… did Connor ask you to call me?”

“No,” Hall says flatly.  “I took his phone two days ago.  I pass along the _important_ messages.”

“I’m trying to fix things,” Dylan pleads.  “Taylor, come on.  I know I was, like, the shittiest person on the whole fucking planet, and Connor out of everyone doesn’t deserve that, but I’m trying to make it right.”

“Are you trying to make it right or are you trying to get him to forgive you?”

Dylan pauses.  “I… both?”

“Wrong answer.”

“Wait!” Dylan shouts.  “Wait, please, Taylor!”

“What,” Hall grumbles.

“I – I want him to forgive me because I don’t, fuckin’, I don’t know what to do without him.  But I, I get it if he doesn’t want to forgive me.  I _get it_.  He…” Dylan laughs, trying to cut off his tears.  “He shouldn’t forgive me.  He really, really shouldn’t.  But I still want him, too.  I just… I just wanna make him happy, Taylor.”

Hall doesn’t say anything for a moment, and if Dylan couldn’t hear him breathing, he’d think that Hall hung up the phone.

“I’m not gonna just give the phone to him or anything,” Taylor says, finally.  “But I’m giving him his phone back tonight.  He can do what he wants with it.  But…” Taylor sighs.  “I really, really don’t want to help you.  But if you’re this much of a fucking dumbass, it’s the only way he’s going to stop crying into his KD.  So I’m gonna give you a hint.  You keep going on and on about what you deserve and what Connor deserves, but have you ever considered that Connor deserves better than you?”

“Of course,” Dylan replies immediately.  “Of – of course he deserves better than me.”

“Have you thought that maybe you deserve better than him?”

“I don’t even know what that would be,” Dylan says truthfully.

“See, kid?” Taylor says.  “Think about that.  You can’t even think of someone better than Davo, and as much as people say he’s hockey Jesus, he’s not shitting gold or anything.”

“He’s _Connor_.”

“And you’re _Dylan_ ,” Taylor says, and he’s mimicking the way Connor says his name sometimes, with a  little lilt to his voice, a bit of a sigh, and to think, that Connor might think he _deserves_ Dylan, like he fucked up enough for that… except that’s not how Connor would think of it.  He’d see the good, see how he’s earned Dylan, in some sort of way, and he’s not just a bottom-of-the-barrel choice…

“Oh,” Dylan breathes.  “You mean…”

“Just because you think you’re some fucking abomination – yeah, I’ve dealt with switches before – doesn’t mean Davo thinks the same thing about you.”

“Okay,” Dylan says.  “Okay.  He could – really?”

“ _Yes_ really,” Taylor says.

“If… If I called him tonight, after my game, do you think he would answer?”

“How would I know?” Taylor snaps.  “Try it and see.  I told you I wasn’t helping.”

“I know,” Dylan says absently.  “Thanks for, uh, not helping.”

“Go play your fucking game,” Taylor says, and hangs up.

Dylan doesn’t even care.  He’s smiling now, for the first time in days, at just the _thought_ of getting to talk to Connor tonight.

 

.oOo.

 

Connor’s curled up in his hotel bed in New York, still wearing the Erie sweatshirt with Dylan’s number on it.  It’s easier, he guesses, to push all his worry about Dylan to the side and just focus on the string of games they’ve lost.  The matinee games are gonna kill him, though, leave him with time after the game, when he’s not just getting ready for the next one, to _think_.

There’s a keycard in the door, and it beeps just before it swings open.

“We’re going out for dinner,” Taylor says, flopping down on Connor’s bed next to him.  “Not for another hour, though.”

And really, that’s one of the biggest changes for Connor, besides not getting texts and snapchats and facetimes from Dylan every second of every day.  Taylor hadn’t been stand-offish before, but there’d been a distance between them.  Now Taylor doesn’t have a problem shoving Connor where he wants him to be so Taylor can curl around him.  Taylor’s a sub, but he doesn’t act like Connor always thought he needed to.  _And_ he has one of the most considerate Doms Connor’s ever met, in Ebs, and Nuge, too, in some capacity.

“Dylan has a game tonight,” Connor says, after a while.

“I know.”

Connor frowns.  “How—”

“Dylan called you,” Taylor says, as if it’s not the most important thing to happen in the last couple days.  “I talked to him for a little bit.”

“What did he say?” Connor demands, squirming around in Taylor’s arms until he could face him.  “Did he say anything?  Did he say why?”

Taylor sighs.  “A bit.”

“So?”

“He’ll tell you himself.”

“Taylor,” Connor whines.  “C’mon.”

“I’m not telling you what he said,” Taylor says firmly.  “But, if I give you your phone back, you can listen to the voicemail.”

“Please!”

Taylor laughs a little and holds out Connor’s phone, passing it in the couple of inches between them.

Connor taps quickly into his voicemail, holding his phone to his ear and cycling through the messages sitting in his inbox until he can get to Dylan’s.

 _First message:_ “Hey Davo, it’s Mitch, checking to make sure you’re all right—”

 _Message skipped.  Next message:_ “Heard through the grapevine you’re having a tough time, Connor – it’s Aaron by the way—”

 _Message skipped.  Next message:_ “Hey it’s Mitch again, I guess Hallsy still has your phone—”

 _Message skipped.  Last message:_ “Uh, hey, Davo.  Connor.  I’m…” A quiet cough. “I don’t even know what to say.  I’m so sorry.  I’m so so sorry, Connor.  It wasn’t fair for me to just dump shit on you and – and make you think I didn’t love you, or anything I’m so sorry.  Yeah, um.  I just.  I wanted you to know that I’m sorry.  And I love you.  A lot.  I’m…” A sniffle. “If you need time, or anything, before you can talk to me again, I get it.  I’ll – I might call again, but if you don’t want to call me back, that’s okay.  Um.  Love you.  I watched your game.  You did really well.  I, uh, we’ve got a game tonight, too.  I’d really like it if you watched it but I, uh, I get it if you don’t.  Love you.  Bye.”

_No more new messages._

Connor bites his lip, hard, trying to keep from crying.

“He seemed like he’s ready to tell you what’s going on,” Taylor says, studying Connor carefully.  “He didn’t tell me much, but I think he’ll tell you.”

Connor nods, staring at his phone.  He taps through to his messaging, looking at the selfie Dylan took a couple months ago, his tongue out and hair sticking up, that Connor’d set as his contact picture.  He misses that Dylan, the one he could understand, the happy one that sent Connor “good morning” and “good night” texts, who Connor counted on for so much.  With all the time he’s had since Dylan stopped talking to him, he’s been thinking more and more about how much that Dylan was just some mask that Dylan wore for him.

“Did he sound okay, when you talked to him?” Connor asks quietly.  “I mean, was he upset?”

“He was upset,” Taylor says neutrally.  “At himself, mostly.”

Connor nods.  He knows, now, that he was being unfair.  He wasn’t treating Dylan the way he should have, and Dylan called him out on it.  But Dylan could have said something sooner, or done something besides fall into radio silence and let Connor wallow for almost a week.

“He said he might call again, after his game.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, his voice ragged.  “That was… he said that in his message.”

Taylor gathers Connor up against his chest, holding him tight.  Connor missed being held, just lying here with someone else without any sort of expectations.

“You gonna watch his game?” Taylor asks, after a while.

“Yeah,” Connor replies, muffled, into Taylor’s shirt.  “He asked me to.”

“You don’t have to do what he asks you to do.”

“Yeah, I know.”  Connor sighs.  “I want to, though.”

Taylor hums and shifts his grip on Connor’s back.

“Can I ask you something?” Connor asks quietly.

“‘Course,” Taylor says.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what, Connor.”

“Your… your thing with Ebs and Nuge.”

“My relationship?” Taylor asks, a hint of a laugh in his voice.  “That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“But…” Connor sighs.  “Dylan was upset that I was going to other Doms.”

“You weren’t going to _other_ Doms, Connor.  Dylan’s not a Dom.”

“I know, but for me—”

“Connor, that’s what I’m trying to say,” Taylor cuts in.  “He’s not a Dom.  Just, keep that in mind when you talk to him.  He’s a switch, and most of the time he’s not a Dom.”

“Okay,” Connor replies dutifully.  “But Nuge’s a switch, right?  So how does he, like, fit in?”

“He doesn’t need to squeeze himself into the cracks between me and Ebs,” Taylor says, sounding a little upset.  “That’s not why he’s there, it’s not just ‘oh here’s our lonely friend, let’s start dating him.’  It’s not easy, trying to balance our dynamics, but we work at it.”  He nuzzles against Connor’s check.  “Relationships are work, Davo.”

“I know that,” Connor grumbles.  “It’s hard with him so far away, and I think… I think he was trying to be something he wasn’t because he wanted me to be happy.”

“That’s something you talk about with him tonight,” Taylor says.  “I’m not trying to get any more involved in your relationship than I already am.”

“Okay,” Connor agrees, pressing against Taylor.  “Do we have to get dressed for dinner yet?”

“Not yet.”

So they lie there a little longer, until Leon comes back to the room and jumps on top of them.

 

.oOo.

 

They’re busing back to Erie that night, but Dylan doesn’t give a shit who overhears him talking to Connor.  If he has the opportunity to talk to Connor again, clear the air between them, settle everything, than he’s going to take it.

So he shoves his way onto the bus first and settles in the piss corner back by the bathroom, so no one’ll get too close.  And once they’re on the road and everyone’s settled into their phones and games, Dylan pulls out his phone and dials Connor’s number.

It’s maybe 5 seconds before Connor picks up, sounding a little breathless.  “Dylan?”

“Connor,” Dylan says, choking back embarrassing tears.  “Hey, Connor.”

“Congrats on your goal,” Connor says, and it’s such a Connor thing to say that Dylan cracks a smile.  “You could’ve avoided those penalties, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dylan says, picking at the seam of his jeans.  “Sorry about your game today.  You looked good out there.”

“You win some, you lose some.”  Dylan can picture the shrug as Connor says it.  “I like being back out there, though.”

Dylan can’t do this, can’t do a normal conversation like everything’s fine.

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” Dylan says in a rush.  He hears Connor suck in a breath, but he keeps going.  “I shouldn’t have just yelled at you and then ignored you, it was so stupid of me, I don’t even—”

“It’s okay,” Connor cuts him off gently.  “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I _do_ ,” Connor says.  “That’s my decision.  I’m… you hurt me.  I’m still upset.  But I forgive you, and I want to understand why.”

Okay – that’s laid out easily enough.  Dylan can do that.  He turns a little so he’s facing the dark window of the bus, phone cradled to his ear.

“I’m not good enough for you,” Dylan says.  He hurries to continue, before Connor can say something.  “You need a Dom and I’ve been _trying_ but it’s hard for me to be that for you because I’m _not_ a Dom, I barely ever get in that headspace and I care about you, and I want you to be happy, but I can’t keep trying to do that because it’s fucking tearing me apart, Davey.”

“I know,” Connor tells him.  “I mean, I guessed.  I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Oh.”

“It was – I wasn’t trying to replace you by playing with Doms in Edmonton,” Connor says.  “No one can replace you.  And I think – I think, on some level, I could tell it was a lot of stress for you, to try to put me down, especially from so far away, and I thought it would be easier on you if there was someone else, too.”

Connor’s so considerate, so kind, even when Dylan deserves it the least he ever has in his whole life.

“I wanted to be what you needed,” Dylan whispers.  “I just wanted to be that for you.”

“You don’t have to be _anything_ for me to need you.”  Connor sounds like he’s crying, a little, and Dylan wishes he was there so he could hold him and make him smile again.  “If you, I don’t know, quit hockey tomorrow, told me you were a sub or that you never wanted to have sex or kiss me or see me or anything, I’d still need you.”

Dylan stares out at the trees whizzing by.  He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I just… I wanted you to know.  You don’t have to be anything other than _you_.”

It’s only when Dylan tries to say something that he realizes he’s choking on tears.  “Thanks, Davey.”

“Is that… do you feel the same about me?”

“Of course,” Dylan says wetly.  “I love you, Connor, and nothing could change that.”

“Even playing with Doms and then bitching about it to you?”

Dylan huffs a laugh. “Even that.  If I can get through you hooking up with _Eichel_ , then nothing else is gonna faze me.”

Connor pauses.  “It did faze you, though.”  He’s breathing a little heavily into the phone, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.  “You say that, but it bothered you.”

“Because I thought you were replacing me.”

“ _Never_ ,” Connor says, with fire in his voice.  “What the fuck, Dylan.”

“You’d talk so much about Ference and Gazdic and everyone else on your team, and it was like… whatever piece I had in your life, they were swallowing it up.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan,” Connor says quietly.  “I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have… I should’ve realized.”

“I didn’t say anything.  You wouldn’t kow.”

“I should’ve realized,” Connor says stubbornly.

Dylan takes a moment to breath, then says, “I’m not going to Dom you anymore, Connor, unless I’m in the right headspace, or you really need me.”

“Okay,” Connor agrees.

“I can’t do it.  I can…” He swallows.  “There are other things I can do to support you and make you happy, and I don’t have to Dom you to do it.”

“You don’t have to Dom me to make me happy,” Connor repeats.  “I – I still need it, but I don’t need it from you.”

“But we can still…” Dylan sighs a little.  He’d done his research, as much as non-dynamic relationship help sites made his skin crawl.  If anything, it’d just confirmed that that wouldn’t work for them.  And sub-sub relationships are hard, too.  And people brought up platonic relationships, or non-sexual relationships, but Dylan couldn’t imagine a world where he doesn’t get to lie in bed with Connor and touch him and make him come and gasp out Dylan’s name.  He lowers his voice.  “I can still kiss you?  And…”

“Of course,” Connor says, just as hushed.  “Dylan – oh God, this is so embarrassing.  I’m just gonna say it all at once okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, I’m attracted to you, I like kissing you, as long as you still want to… you know… then I want to, too.”

“Yeah, s-same for me,” Dylan says, tapping his fingers against the window lightly.  “I just wanted to be sure.”

“We should start doing that more,” Connor sighs.

“I mean, if I was with you, I’d kiss you now.”

“ _Talking_ , Dylan,” Connor hisses.  Dylan laughs, probably a little too loudly for the bus.  “I meant _talking._   But… yes, we should kiss more, too.”

“You’re in Buffalo in a couple weeks, right?” Dylan asks, mentally running down the Oilers schedule.   “If the Otters aren’t playing that night, I’ll come see it.”

“My parents are coming, too.”

“Cool, we’ll have a party.”

Connor laughs.  The sound makes Dylan grin.

“Are we okay, now?” Connor asks, his voice still light.  “I wanna make sure we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Dylan says.  “I’m on the way back to Erie now, could we skype tomorrow?  Or soon?”

“After my game tomorrow,” Connor says.  “We’re flying out the next morning, so.”

“Okay.  Tomorrow.”

“I’m really excited to see you again,” Connor says.  Dylan smiles.

“Me, too, Connor.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Dylan sits on the phone for a moment, not hanging up.  “Connor?”

“Yeah?” Connor says right away.

Dylan laughs quietly.  “Nothing.  I just didn’t know if you were there or not.”

“I’m here,” Connor tells him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.  Bye, Dylan.”

“Bye,” Dylan says, and finally hangs up.

He stares at his contact page for Connor again, at the picture from over the summer.  It’s a weight off his chest, just to think that this summer he’ll get to see Connor happy like that again, take pictures of him smiling and laughing in the sun.

He stares at the picture until his screen times out and goes dark, and then he leans his head back on the headrest and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> (don't worry, I have PLANS for the sabres/oilers game. and the knights/otters game. PLANS)
> 
> join me in sin on tumblr @ somethingnerdythiswaycomes.


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